Santana groaned as she heard the gunshots a few blocks over, yanking the covers over her head. Usually she didn't mind being home alone at night, safe inside the burglar alarm protected walls of her house, safe inside the gated community where she grew up. But tonight she didn't feel good, and for once she wished her dad were actually home on time so she didn't have to be alone in the big, dark house.
She sniffled a little and burrowed herself deeper into the bed that her parents used to share. She knew that cowering into the sheets of her dead mother's bed was a little pathetic, but it reminded her of being a little girl, crawling in beside her the nights that she woke up sick. She also sort of hoped that her dad might at least notice that she looked like crap if she was sweating and sneezing into his own bed and not argue when she tried to skip school the next morning.
The doorbell sounded and Santana tensed, a little embarrassed at herself that the constant gunshots had made her so jumpy. She really didn't want to get up. Apparently having mono three times already hadn't made her immune to face sucking random feverish kids in the nurse's office. Having her butt literally kicked across the hallway hadn't helped. The doorbell rang again, three rings this time. Santana rolled her eyes and yanked the comforter around her then dragged herself down the stairs and to the front entryway. She pulled open the heavy wooden door and saw Brittany standing on the front steps looking at her toes.
"Brit? What are you doing here, it's like… 8 o' clock," Santana questioned, glancing down at her phone, disturbed at first by how gross she sounded and secondly by how early she had collapsed into a sleepy mess.
Brittany looked up from her feet into Santana's hooded eyes, "Lauren was bragging in Glee club how she 'whooped your ass in front of everyone.' I wanted to make sure you were okay. So are you? Okay?"
Santana nodded, "I'm fine Brit, go back to Artie, I'm sick anyways," she coughed, harboring a little resentment towards the boy that took her best friend away.
"You don't look very good, San," Brittany said, stepping back and observing Santana's disheveled appearance.
Normally, Santana knew that she would have thrown out a defensive and probably harsh comment, but she just couldn't with Brittany.
"I know."
Brittany let herself in and placed a cold hand to Santana's over heated face.
"I think you need medicine," she finally declared, trying to think back on the last time her little sister looked like Santana did and how her mom fixed it.
Santana only nodded and shoved the door closed, shivering a little from the cold February air and privately lamenting the pain in the back of her throat. She pulled the bulky blanket tighter around her shoulders and grabbed Brittany's hand, leading her upstairs to the master bedroom, then falling back into the bed.
"San, are you okay?" Brittany asked for the third time that night, peering at her friend curiously and climbing into the bed after her.
Santana pulled Brittany to her, placing her head on Brittany's shoulder and wrapping her arms around the blonde's waist. Brittany settled her chin on the top of Santana's head, rubbing the sick girl's back as she coughed.
"You need medicine," Brittany said again, wiggling herself out of Santana's embrace and wandering into the bathroom.
"Third drawer down in the middle," Santana croaked, wincing again at the pain and at how raspy her voice sounded.
She watched from the bed as Brittany counted the drawers, pointing to each one, before settling on the one that Santana's dad kept the medicine in.
"San? San!" Brittany called, pulling out bottles of cough syrup and boxes of decongestant, a befuddled expression spreading over her face.
"Just bring it all over here, Brit, we'll figure it out."
Brittany did as she called, filling her arms with the entire contents of the drawer, then dropping them directly on top of Santana. Santana pulled herself into a sitting position, trying to ignore the ache that she was pretty sure was a giant Lauren Zizes foot-sized bruise on her back. Brittany clamored back up into the bed and began to slowly read the backs of all of the medicine.
"What's acetaminophen?" she asked slowly, peering at a Tylenol bottle.
Santana didn't answer; she simply took the bottle from Brittany's hand, quickly swallowing the pills with a little cough as they went down her sore throat.
"Better?" Brittany asked brightly.
"Mmm-hmm," Santana murmured, snuggling even closer to her best friend. Santana buried her face into Brittany's neck, clinging to her, as another gunshot rang out into the night air. It was nice, she thought, to maybe not be quite so alone.